I looked in the mirror this morning,
I did not recognize the face reflected.
During a dream, or was it reality,
The layers of my life began to shed.
Bit by bit, skin by skin, memory by memory,
They all fell away as petals leave a flower.
Scattered and crushed on the soul’s floor,
Trod over into pulp, into shriveled pieces.
The mirrored person is staring sardonically at me,
A look of wonderment, amusement, or anguish.
I cannot tell, I cannot say, I cannot think,
Stunned by the stubble revealed, stalks of life.
There is a morphing in that callow face,
A presence that moves shadowed so slightly.
It is the bared essence of what I was,
Molded into what I’ve become, what I am.
All the years have chiseled at my stone,
Cover upon cover of fine particles, dust.
It is just a reflection in a mirror, but,
This reflection questions: “Is it you or me?”
Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour
WOW, great poem! I felt that exact same way when I woke this morning. Beautifully written!
• power-packed peeling
“all the years have chiseled at my stone”-yes, this is done SO well…lovely
cover upon cover….
ribbons of her thoughts
This is a great portrayal of the self not recognizing itself.
This was engaging, and resonated powerfully for me. At 61, I have had numerous ‘mirror moments’ much like the one you’ve depicted so well here.
“All the years have chiseled at my stone,
Cover upon cover of fine particles, dust.”
These two lines brought two strong visions to me: one was time chiseling at the face in the mirror, the other was time slowly chiseling the epitaph on the person’s inevitable tombstone.
Well done… 😉